


came for the low

by sinjoong (undeliveredtruth)



Series: decadence [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: (with a backstory), Bloodplay, Chaebol son Seonghwa, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Gang member Hongjoong, Hair-pulling, Knifeplay, M/M, Pain Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24700810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeliveredtruth/pseuds/sinjoong
Summary: seonghwa wants to make up for his mistakes to hongjoong, and he'd do anything for it. he'd let hongjoong do anything to him,anythinghe wanted.because he wants to fix hongjoong. wants to love hongjoong, give hongjoong the affection he’s never been given, the care he deserves, the love in his heart.too bad (he can’t).
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: decadence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785736
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	came for the low

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! here is some... different seongjoong from what i usually write, just a tad.
> 
> IMPORTANT: in addition to the tags, there are mentions of past death, references to blood, and name-calling; if you have any concerns about the exact words or instances, feel free to DM me or comment first and I'll respond with details. seongjoong's dynamic is quite something but it's all very much consensual, explicitly so, so please do not read if you do not feel comfortable!
> 
> if you do, i hope you enjoy it!

the empty glass clinks on the hard marble of the bar. seonghwa pretends he heard it, but the music is too loud for him to be able to— his imagination conjures it for him instead.

across from him, the bartender grinds mint leaves at the bottom of the glass, along with sugar and lemon juice; seonghwa feels the pressure on his chest, sinking in like someone's muddling his lungs. the bartender pours three shots of white rum into the glass; seonghwa hears the _glug glug_ of the alcohol in the metal cup, the _splash_ the lemon makes when he accidentally drops it into the glass from too high up.

he isn’t supposed to use lemon. a knot in his throat. seonghwa swallows around nothing—it comes up with a weak _thank you_ when the bartender puts the mojito in front of him.

suddenly, hair raises on the back of his neck; a little spot burns like in a cartoon, magnifying glass angling the sun onto seonghwa’s skin until it catches fire. he takes a sip of the drink through the two thin black straws—it’s winter, and this is seonghwa’s favorite summer drink. but it’s cold, and it puts out the fire.

just two seconds in and he’s halfway through the glass. it’s his second, but the bartender poured too much ice. if it was their club, seonghwa would have him fired by now.

a third sip in, his mouth drops open, the straws slipping out before the pain in his scalp _hits._ it _hurts._

“i said no drinking when you see me.”

the cocktail glass gets pushed towards the edge of the bar. it falls; seonghwa imagines the sound of it breaking in tiny pieces on the floor.

“are you stupid? or do you have a death wish?” hongjoong _pulls—_ seonghwa feels like his hair will fall out of the roots if he tugs one inch more. “answer me. are you stupid, coming in this place knowing who you are? with that pretty face, dressed like that? and you think people won’t _eat you?”_

“n-no. i just… wanted to see you.”

hongjoong lets go of his hair to grab his throat in a vice grip. tight, his fingers leave marks on seonghwa’s neck—seonghwa chokes under the ease with which hongjoong leaves him breathless. he’s killed people for less, in much more public places, maybe.

but that’s what he came here for, didn’t he? to have hongjoong make a mess of him.

“one of these fucking days…” hongjoong swears, low and angry. seonghwa’s hair stands up on his whole body, shivers down his chest when hongjoong turns him so he faces him, sideways to the bar.

the blood pools down, his leather pants increasingly uncomfortable clinging to his hard-on; his mouth opens, tongue peeking out, to say something. but there is a flash of light in the club and sudden pressure over his crotch, pointed and _heavy._ it _hurts—_ the bony knee pressing into his cock fills him up; seonghwa’s dick hardens the harder hongjoong presses him down into the chair. he focuses on it; on the pain in his neck and in his crotch, hongjoong manhandling him in the middle of this club.

his eyes glide over seonghwa with half disgust, half anger. like he’s nothing more than a cheap whore.

but that’s what he is, isn’t he? that’s what he’s here for, what hongjoong wants. to use him. for seonghwa to _hurt._

seonghwa couldn’t hurt enough anyway.

the hand in on his neck lets go; seonghwa’s head bounces back to fix his eyes on hongjoong.

he wants to beg. he would—he would beg for hongjoong to put his knee back, let him come right here. but hongjoong wraps his hand around his wrist and pulls him off the chair instead.

“put whatever he had on my tab.”

the bartender nods, eyes wide and scared. seonghwa would have him fired.

for how seonghwa was raised, the knocking of an enemy pawn from the chessboard should have been nothing. so he didn’t think he’d remember it like this.

he thought it to be catharsis maybe, if he ever got to walk these halls again. him and hongjoong would be seonghwa’s absolution: to be set free from the guilt he did not even expect to feel, seonghwa would replace the death he caused with the life he’d breathe into hongjoong. he’d come here and leave the memory of the death he was the cause of behind.

but instead, the dark halls flash red. seonghwa has to close his eyes so he doesn’t see the screams climbing up the walls in splatters of blood.

he’s here too soon. it’s too early. seonghwa still has the vivid memory of hands on him, tongue in his mouth; the body dragged towards the back, in an alleyway, the begging that was his and the one that wasn’t. hongjoong doesn’t love him like that. _yet._

suddenly, seonghwa gets pulled to the left—a door opens and he’s pushed into a room; he gasps, but he can’t even hear himself here.

“are you that desperate for it?” hongjoong throws him in; seonghwa lands on his knees with a painful thud, hearing hongjoong mumble behind him as he locks the door. “damn _whores,_ can’t even follow what they’re told.”

his cock twitches. with the door closed, the music is muffled; seonghwa can hear the clink of hongjoong’s chains, his hard breathing behind him.

a shiver travels down his spine— _danger._ he’s trapped. the room, dark red and dimly lit, has no other doors, no windows.

“turn around.”

seonghwa does, kneeling on the hard floorboards, hands on his thighs. eyes trained on hongjoong he waits, patient, as the belt around hongjoong’s waist is taken off.

he wonders if hongjoong will use it on him this time. if he’s rattled enough to want to put those marks on seonghwa’s skin.

his thighs burn with the memory of them splitting his skin open from last time—red flashes before his eyes, but it’s just the light of the room when seonghwa blinks, a reminder of where he is. where he shouldn’t be. where he’s come back even though he shouldn’t have; the one time should have been enough. _red._

the belt gets thrown off somewhere to the left. instead, hongjoong works open the one button of his jeans, dragging his zipper down. seonghwa’s mouth waters; he swallows it down, waiting.

“come here.”

his knees against the hardboard floor _hurt_ — walking to hongjoong targets the pain somewhere else, in the burn of shame smoldering up his spine. his hands grasp onto hongjoong’s thighs, waiting. waiting for hongjoong to give him what he’s come for.

hongjoong feeds him his cock like he’s almost bored of seonghwa, irked by the task at hand. he’s soft in seonghwa’s mouth, and seonghwa has to work for it. hands on hongjoong’s thighs, he’s not allowed to touch; he can only use his mouth because that’s how hongjoong likes it. hongjoong likes seeing his puffy, ruined lips around him and just that, likes pushing down seonghwa’s throat when seonghwa isn’t ready because that’s all he is. his own personal toy.

he gets hard in seonghwa’s throat. seonghwa chokes around hongjoong, ugly noises that sound horrendous to his ears when he thinks of how humiliating it is. him, _here._

hongjoong chuckles, takes a deep breath in when he pulls his cock out of seonghwa’s mouth and seonghwa chokes around nothing. the string of saliva and precum that connects seonghwa’s lips to the tip of it breaks when hongjoong puts a finger under his chin and tilts seonghwa’s head up.

“you want to be fucked so bad that you’d risk your life coming here? two weeks you didn’t hear from me and you show up where everyone wants you _dead?”_

seonghwa swallows and nods. _i—_

the words get stuck on his tongue; he opens his mouth to pour them out, but instead, hongjoong presses them deeper with his thumb, closes his jaw. obediently, seonghwa sucks on his finger, eyes piercing hongjoong’s. panting when he takes it out, seonghwa puts his tongue out and waits for hongjoong to stuff his mouth full again.

hongjoong pauses. seonghwa knows what’s coming before hongjoong even moves—his cheek burns from the impact, stings so deliciously seonghwa’s cock _aches._ he’s sure his skin is blooming crimson, reddening; hongjoong matches his other cheek to his first and sets seonghwa’s head straight.

sets him straight. he can read the rising anger in hongjoong like his body is an open book—his thigh muscles flex under seonghwa’s hands. hands tighten in the hair at the crown of his head and push his mouth onto hongjoong’s cock with no finesse and no rhythm; too much, too soon, seonghwa’s throat constricts around him, the intrusion overwhelming. hongjoong doesn’t stop at one muffled cough or the second, at the gagging noises, the conflicting moans coming out of him; seonghwa gets his breathing back in control through his nose and takes hongjoong pushing _deeper._

he looks up at hongjoong when his nose hits the skin above his cock and meets his eyes. gritted teeth, hongjoong is looking at him like he’s just on the edge of letting go.

seonghwa wishes hongjoong would let go; wouldn’t pull out for that half a second of breathing he gives seonghwa before he pulls him back to gag on his cock; would tighten a hand around his throat until seonghwa’s airflow would be cut off for good, unable to make any noise; would slap him with intent more than twice, and with abandon, everywhere, until seonghwa’s whole _body_ aches with pain; would pick up ropes and pull on them _tight_ and make bruises bloom across seonghwa’s body, rub raw at his skin until he’s red and sensitive, held open for hongjoong to take it all out on him.

seonghwa wishes hongjoong wouldn’t hold back, wouldn’t smooth down the anger that twists his face whenever seonghwa is on his knees for him.

but he’s getting there. he’s getting closer.

hongjoong wants to pull out when seonghwa’s breath gets erratic, he can tell, when he thinks he can’t take it—seonghwa pulls on his thighs to keep him there until he really can’t, until a tear streams down his cheek. he doesn’t want hongjoong to let go because he’s right _there—_

he gets pushed off for that, toppling back until his ass hits the floorboards and he has to look up at hongjoong while his breath catches, the scratch in his ruined throat itching down his stomach.

hongjoong’s eyes _burn_.

 _yes, yes, yes,_ that little voice in his head preaches, over and over, when fingers dig harshly into his chin. hongjoong crouches in front of him, slaps him over the cheek again, _hard,_ hitting his own fingers, keeping seonghwa’s eyes straight and looking up at him. _yesyesyes—_

“fucking whore.”

seonghwa smiles at the pet name, warm and soft.

hongjoong surely can’t stand to see _that._

like a broken record, the scene pauses, catches on a second and winds back around. seonghwa observes the conflict in hongjoong’s eyes and doesn’t dare make a move—whatever it is, whatever comes.

hongjoong lifts him up by his chin, pushes a hand on his back to throw him into the room, past the pole in the middle and on the couch, seonghwa’s wobbly, aching knees giving in to prop him on his front to the backrest. behind him, hongjoong’s fingers dig into his silk shirt and push into his shoulder blades, nails running up his nape. hands in his sweaty hair _pull_ for the millionth time, pushing the limit of too hard. if hongjoong pulls just a little harder, he’ll be left with strands of seonghwa’s hair in his hands.

seonghwa chuckles at the thought of his hair, his DNA, left on the floor of this exact club. what would he do this time, if he knew? what would he do to hongjoong, if he killed someone just for his hands on seonghwa’s hips and his tongue in his mouth?

“do you find this funny? is this funny to you?” hongjoong grabs at the collar of seonghwa’s shirt like he doesn’t know what to pull on to _hurt._

“yeah. it’s hilarious—”

that’s all his ruined throat manages before his voice breaks; hongjoong lets go so seonghwa falls over the back of the couch, digging his fingers into the leather.

when he presses back against him, there’s something else there. a tiny feeling at the bottom of his throat, a press of something small, sharp.

seonghwa takes in a quick breath; the rapid movement only jolts the blade deeper into his skin.

why should he care what happens to hongjoong? if seonghwa dies at hongjoong’s hands, how is he going to know anyway?

“is it funny now?”

seonghwa takes another breath, elaborate this time— deep and thorough. the blade stays where it is, steady and unmoving. sharp.

the unfortunate truth is… he does.

he presses forward. just the littlest bit—the blade licks at his skin. the pinprick of heat travels through his whole body, down his veins.

_yes. it’s really funny._

“fucking hell,” hongjoong swears behind him, tone colored surprised. “you…”

the blade moves, and so does hongjoong, gone all of a sudden. his body misses the feeling of the metal against his throat already like an unfulfilled promise, the aching for what he really wants. what he’s come for.

hongjoong’s hands pull at his clothes instead, and it almost makes up for it; the press of his jeans around his thighs is too tight, too constricting. he’s uncomfortable, wiggling in hongjoong’s hold until a hand comes down on his ass _hard._

“stay still.”

“if you do that again,” he croaks.

hongjoong doesn’t. hongjoong lifts him up until seonghwa is almost fully bent over the back of the couch. exposed to him, fully and utterly at his mercy, the weight of hongjoong’s eyes feels like a physical pressure.

it’s one of hongjoong’s rules, that seonghwa preps before he comes. less for the convenience, seonghwa’s sure, and more for the knowledge that seonghwa will be three, four fingers deep into himself thinking of seeing hongjoong, staining the white sheets of his baldaquin bed with come, his thoughts and his desire spilling out in the space around him in a myriad of ways. so there is no separation for seonghwa between hongjoong and the rest of his life.

hongjoong wants to reach deep— that’s his goal. reach deep into him so that when he rips his heart out, there will be a mark on seonghwa and his family that no one will be able to forget.

but seonghwa knows that. he can tell by the prod of hongjoong’s fingers deep inside him, as deep as he can get, one, two, and three in quick succession punching deep inside him until seonghwa can’t— _doesn’t want to_ —hold back his desperate moans.

hongjoong pushes into him in one thrust, pressing seonghwa’s cock into the cold leather of the couch when he gets as far in as he can, piercing through every defense seonghwa has. his wrists get pressed into the couch, hongjoong’s nails digging crescent marks into his unmarked skin as he fucks up into him with sharp, puncturing little thrusts.

it’s been too long; seonghwa’s had time to heal the bruises, the cuts, the marks, those on the inside and the outside. after so long he’s also beyond sensitive, the drag of leather over his untouched cock, so hard for so long, driving him to the edge ridiculously, embarassingly fast. hongjoong’s jeans chafe the back of his thighs, the zipper digging on the inside of his thighs with every _slap slap slap_ of his skin against seonghwa’s.

he’d hold back the noises, but for what purpose? seonghwa wants hongjoong to _hear_ how much pleasure he’s driving out of him, how his skin feels on fire and his thoughts jumble with every second of hongjoong inside him, where seonghwa wants him most. where he wants him all the time, he’d spend _years_ with hongjoong inside him if he could.

hongjoong pulls out all of a sudden, and seonghwa keens at the loss, arching back to chase him. he’s turned around, pushed on unsteady feet as hongjoong sits on the couch, leans back and drags seonghwa by the wrist to fall in his lap, legs on both sides of his thigh.

he wants seonghwa to do the work. that’s fine, because seonghwa _especially_ likes this position, looking down at hongjoong as his cock reaches delicious places inside of him.

seonghwa knows hongjoong likes it too. his moan tells it to him when seonghwa sinks down on him and bounces right away, hands in hongjoong’s hair; when hongjoong gets cocky, legs spread to tip seonghwa’s thighs further and further apart and get _deeper_ , that’s when seonghwa really holds the reins.

hongjoong’s eyes lower to the arch of seonghwa’s neck, tipped back for him as to say _mark me._ _bite me, scratch me,_ _do whatever you want to me…_

his mouth touches seonghwa’s neck, but instead of biting, it traces the line of his collarbones and down, and back up, and seonghwa realizes.

 _oh._ he forgot.

the cut on his neck aches from hongjoong’s tongue poking at it, the flat of his tongue on his neck lapping up the blood making a bead of precome drip down seonghwa’s cock. hongjoong rolls his hips, moves deep inside him and obliterates all conscious thought he might’ve hoped to have.

his eyes accidentally fall to the left, catching a glint of metal on the couch. his hand reaches out by its own accord, feeling the sharp edge of the metal catch on the pad of his thumb; the little surprised hiss alerts hongjoong.

the blade is taken from his hand. seonghwa doesn’t even have to ask— hongjoong presses the blunt edge to his chest, dragging the tip up over his collarbone, under his jaw.

seonghwa’s breath stops. _oh._

unmoving, hongjoong feels heavy and overwhelming inside of him; seonghwa’s consciousness sets a tunnel vision on the scratch of his blade over his own body. not enough to break skin, but enough to seem like it does.

hongjoong slips the blade between his closed lips, pressing down over his bottom lip until seonghwa’s mouth is open as wide as it gets. one side pushes on the inside of his bottom lip; seonghwa feels his cock twitch when the sharp tip presses into his gums.

and then over his tongue.

a small ache; the taste of blood pools in seonghwa’s mouth. nothing he’s unfamiliar with; he has the bad habit of biting on the inside of his cheeks, at insistent marks on his tongue when he’s stressed. he’s as familiar with the taste of his own blood as he is with the taste of anything else, metallic and gritty. it tastes like _satisfaction,_ like finally pulling off that little piece of skin that you could feel every time you moved your tongue in your mouth.

hongjoong kisses him for the first time tonight. without any finesse, he slips his tongue in seonghwa’s mouth and laps at the cuts on seonghwa’s own, exploring behind his teeth, in the space between his lips and his teeth. he bites seonghwa’s lips enough to _hurt._ the worst is that he tastes like nothing different: he tastes like seonghwa’s blood too.

and that… seonghwa’s thoughts turn to mush, dizzying with hongjoong’s insistent tongue in his mouth, his cock pressing deeper into him with both of hongjoong’s hands on his ass gripping _hard._ seonghwa tips his head back and feels hongjoong’s warm breath in his open mouth, over his chin.

it’s in the shadow of the kiss, heady and dizzying, that he gets brave enough. the words feel heavy on his lips, but he pushes them out nonetheless. needs to.

“hongjoong… what are we?”

“oh, you know you’re _way_ more than a fuck to me, baby boy.” the answer comes quick, whispered on seonghwa’s neck with a smirk.

 _oh._ it feels sort of nice to hear, seonghwa realizes, head spinning. even though it doesn’t mean what he wants it to.

the absolute _fool_ that seonghwa is.

hongjoong picks up his pace, fucking up into him with little punchy thrusts drawing over his spot and deeper. enough for seonghwa to feel the build-up of pleasure in his stomach, hands locked behind hongjoong’s neck, entirely useless bouncing in his lap. hongjoong makes no move to touch him and seonghwa doesn’t want to touch himself, wants to feel the heat in his stomach knowing that he’s come just from hongjoong’s cock.

if he focuses enough, he’s sure that he can. hongjoong in him, his breath on his neck, his tongue working over him, hongjoong’s thighs pressed to his, his fingers digging bruises and marks into his ass. the taste of blood on his tongue, the drag of the cock over his spot, the skin under his hands.

the pleasure builds—if hongjoong changes his angle a little—seonghwa switches, rolls his hips until he finds it, until it feels like hongjoong’s cock reaches deeper than it actually does, somewhere inside him that seems impossible to.

hongjoong is _everywhere_. everywhere where seonghwa needs him most and where he doesn’t, reaching so far inside him seonghwa can’t untangle where he is and where he isn’t. taking over seonghwa in ways so ugly, so twisted.

seonghwa welcomes them, truly and entirely. hongjoong presses his ass on him with a force that makes seonghwa _shudder—_ he comes inside seonghwa, so deep he feels it in his stomach, in his chest. he’s _deep._ he’s _so. fucking. deep._

_“god, hongjoong…”_

hongjoong bounces his ass on him when he’s done, his still hard cock punching ugly, unrestrained noises from seonghwa. hongjoong’s come inside him makes the slide wetter, easier now— he hears the filthy, squelching noises. he’s so _used_ and _disgusting,_ such a _mess_ that he starts laughing, throwing his head back. oh, it's _so funny._

but god, he feels _so good._ he feels so _damn_ good, hongjoong’s fingers tracing around his stretched rim like he wants more from him— and god, seonghwa wants more _too,_ and comes all over his silk blouse, dripping down his cock and over his naked thighs.

shudders of the orgasm through his body draw tears from his eyes— adding to the blood, to the come, the sweat of the shirt clinging to him. what a _mess_ he is.

but he doesn’t let hongjoong get away— catches his breath and presses down on hongjoong still inside him, wet and sticky.

because it’s now that hongjoong is the most open. after he’s come deep in seonghwa, after seonghwa’s let him do whatever he wanted to him, ruin him body and soul, when he’s open and understanding…

“about yu—“

“do _not_ say his name. do not fucking _dare.”_

with nails on his jaw, seonghwa’s mouth gets closed shut. hongjoong’s smiling, but his smile must taste like artificial sweetener— saccharine and overtly fake; seonghwa reads murder in his eyes, anger unrestrained.

it’s too early. too early for seonghwa to bring up hongjoong's partner, when the thirst of revenge still burns red in hongjoong.

seonghwa gets shoved off of him, thrown on his back on the leather couch as hongjoong gets up, tucks his soft cock into his pants and does his zipper back.

he makes for the door, and only turns when his hand is on the handle to look at seonghwa, breathing steady on the couch. seonghwa sits still, watches as hongjoong’s eyes trail down over his ruined body; his mouth opens to form the words he wants to ask most.

“when are you going to kill me?”

“hmm. maybe next time, baby boy.”

he leaves. hongjoong leaves him in the red, dark room, his come dripping out of seonghwa’s hole, staining the leather couch. the cut on his neck aches, his tongue aches, his throat aches, his scalp aches, he feels marks darkening on his hips, on his ass, on his throat.

seonghwa works out the crinks in his neck and eventually makes to get up, ignoring the protest in his lower back. he puts his pants up over his stained thighs and shirt, rubs to get most of the stains off. he’ll have to go to the bathroom to wash them off before he’s picked up and his father’s driver sees the state that he’s in.

he feels loose, empty, used. _hurt._ but when it’s at hongjoong’s hands, it always feels good.

because the truth of the matter is hongjoong will never be able to hurt seonghwa as much as he hurts himself. so seonghwa always pushes hongjoong to just _let go already,_ in whichever way he wants to. put seonghwa out of his misery, one way or the other.

forgive him, or kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> well what is their backstory? feel free to send your guesses in the comments? o.O
> 
> as always, find me @bbysvts on twitter and curiouscat if you wanna scream at me! <3


End file.
